


Closets, Cabins, and Conspiracies

by Ms_Anthrop



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Community: sshg_promptfest, Drama & Romance, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gen, HP: EWE, Meddling, Misunderstandings, Post-Hogwarts, Sexual Tension, Trapped In A Closet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-16 19:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13060311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_Anthrop/pseuds/Ms_Anthrop
Summary: 'Pity we can't stun them, strip them, and shove them into the nearest broom closet. That ought to sort out matters rather quickly, don't you think?...' The Hogwarts Staff gets creative when dealing with a frustratingly stubborn Headmaster and Muggle Studies Professor. Written for AdelaideArcher as part of the 2016 LJ SSHG Prompt Fest. Rated E- a flangsty PWP.





	1. Mirror, Mirror On the Wall...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AdelaideArcher](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AdelaideArcher/gifts).



> Season's Greetings, lovely Readers!
> 
> This is something that I've been meaning to post for a while now, and since I'm finally on holiday, the time has come :)
> 
> The story is complete in four chapters (and a bonus fifth if I can finally finish a bit of pirate-themed porn) and I'll be updating every couple of days until it's done. For those of you who are curious, there will also be updates coming up shortly on 'A Derailed Train of Thought'; I've been frantically trying to finish my story for both this year's LJ SSHG Gift Exchange and the Snape Showcase which put that one to the back burner. Check out LiveJournal if you want some fun reads!
> 
> May this winter bring you all the warmth and company of those you love!

Mercifully, it wasn't an enchanted mirror.

Had the antique looking glass hanging above the fireplace mantel been spelt to speak, Hermione rather thought that the pointed commentary would have included descriptors such as 'strumpet' or 'hussy.' Still, as she gazed into the shadowed depths she couldn't help but wish for a bit of well-meaning advice- even if it was to tell her to brush her mutinous mass of hair or button her blouse back up to where decorum dictated it ought to be.

The woman staring back at her was a wholly unfamiliar one. Cheeks flushed becomingly and lips wantonly plump, she looked more than a little impassioned; the shifting ochre hues of the dying fire seemed to only emphasise the rise and fall of her half-bared breasts.

 _I do believe that this would qualify as having a heaving bosom_ , Hermione thought wryly, fighting the urge to tug her blouse up. _And all I need to complete the fantasy is a certain tall and dark man standing behind me..._ For just a moment, she let herself fall into the illusion: the lean, saturnine figure of Severus coming up behind her, those marvellously dexterous fingers settling on her hips and pulling her hard against him. A hot, nibbling kiss starting at the nape of her neck…

Standing in the silent splendour of his sitting room, she felt her body begin a slow burn. _I really, really, need to get shagged_ , she thought a tad desperately, her nipples hardening into sensitive points as the fantasy spun out in her mind. _Because if I have to endure much more of this, I'm likely to do my own impression of a phoenix on a burning day!_

The loud pop of a settling log startled her back into the present, and she took another deep breath. _Right. Priorities, Granger..._ _first, stop acting like a hormonally obsessed youth; you are nearer to thirty than twenty. Second, stop acting like a ninny. Just bloody well ask him if he fancies you!_

Hermione had awoken ten minutes earlier on the sofa in Severus' private sitting room, wrapped in a soft wool blanket that smelled of juniper and the man himself. A dinner for two had been laid out neatly on the small table by the bookcases, but there was no trace of her dining companion. Upon seeing the meal, she had barely restrained the urge to cackle like the witch that she was; she knew that the Great Hall had dined on a supper of pork chops, applesauce, and roasted red potatoes… not the delicious-looking cottage pie that was currently being held hot with the aid of a stasis charm.

He must have specifically ordered the dish. Granted, Severus was the Head of Hogwarts: he could have demanded a prime cut of Wagyu beef with white-truffle infused foie gras and the House-Elves would have elatedly combed the four corners of the earth to comply. By contrast, the humble cottage pie sitting on the table wasn't complicated, but it was her favourite meal.

 _It has to mean something_ , she reasoned doggedly, warmth filling her that had nothing to do with the fire in the grate. _It simply must… why else would he go to the trouble of ordering something different?_

The cagey bastard had left her in knots since the first day that she had begun teaching Muggle Studies at the start of the autumn term. Her first day lecturing had been a nauseating blend of nerves and excitement; it wasn't until the final student had left the classroom at the end of the day that she had given into the luxury of sagging against the podium with relief… and then nearly jumped clean out of her skin when a velvety and rich voice had intoned, "Well done, Professor Granger. I am impressed."

She'd whirled, wand at the ready, startled to see the Headmaster Disillusion himself and stride out from the corner, smirking at her reaction.

"How long have you been standing there?" Hermione had demanded, feeling as though her heart was making a credible attempt at pounding out of her chest.

Severus, for his part, had merely given her a polite, if somewhat mocking bow. "Long enough. I make sure that my newest Professors are properly supported in their roles, and that means observing them teach." His dark gaze turned measuring. "From here on out I shall give you plenty of notice when I intend to observe, but as I said, you did well today…"

It was the first compliment that she had ever received from the man, and it had made her redden like a first year. However, it wasn't the last time he praised her; Severus was an involved and dedicated Headmaster, and not at all in the overbearing, amoral fashion that Albus Dumbledore had been.

Moreover, Severus was also nothing like the glowering, condescending, bitter man of her youth. He had proven to be a surprisingly good mentor, and their arguments were always enjoyably spirited. Oh, he was still gleefully sarcastic and dearly loved to skewer fools, but the harsh edge of anger had given way to a dry sense of humour and snarky charisma that she found enormously attractive. _A wonderfully fit body and a bum one could bounce sickles off of doesn't hurt, either…_

The realisation that she had noticed Severus Snape's bum- and the corresponding level of fitness- had clued her into the fact that her feelings of respect and friendship had changed. At first, Hermione had reckoned that her infatuation was nothing more than a passing fancy. But as the months rolled by, the sentiment had solidified into emotions altogether more substantial; she was now horribly afraid to give a name to what she felt.

Naturally, his feelings on the subject- if there were any- remained maddeningly opaque. There were times she was sure that he was flirting with her, but he never once overstepped the boundaries of a proper friendship. Whilst Hermione wasn't normally one to hesitate, Severus was first and foremost her boss. It would be horribly awkward if all her frustrating fantasies were just that: the made-up musings of a woman who hadn't gotten a leg over in positively ages.

She'd nearly given it all up as a lost cause when he had invited her to dine privately with him. Ostensibly, the meal was to discuss Hermione's technology proposal, but there had been something else lurking in his gaze when he asked.

Hermione had dithered for three straight days trying to decipher that look.

Unfortunately, Severus had been called away almost immediately upon her arrival to deal a student issue, telling her to feel free to peruse his collection of books as he had left. Several tense hours had passed, and she had eventually fallen into the drowsy depths of a doze on the sofa.

But now? The small signs of his concern- the blanket that had been tucked around her and the fire, as well as the specially ordered meal- gave her the courage to hope that she wasn't reading the situation all wrong; while he had never made any overt, grandiose gestures of attraction, the multitude of little kind deeds did add up to quite a mountain of evidence in her favour.

_I am done being a spineless wimp. The man was a ruddy spy for twenty years; he cannot be completely blind to my feelings. He must reciprocate them to some degree, or he'd never have invited me here in the first place. So… time to act like a Gryffindor and be bold about what I want. And I want him!_

Glancing back to the mirror, she took stock of her tousled appearance again. _I can do this…_ Swiftly, Hermione loosened the third button on her blouse; any lower and her bra would be plainly visible. _If this doesn't make my intent clear, nothing short of letting him discover me naked on the hearthrug will..._

She found him sitting at the formal dining table, entirely absorbed in a large notebook spread out in front of him. A few more quiet steps forward revealed what had so captured his attention: he was rapidly sketching.

That ability to create art was yet another unknown facet of his character, and Hermione was overcome with a ferocious, possessive desire to know Severus more fully. _Please,_ she begged any deities that might be listening, _please, please let him feel the way I do!_

Opening her mouth to speak, she hesitated, not wanting to disturb such a private moment. In all the years Hermione had known him, she had never seen his expression so relaxed and unashamedly happy; the pleasure that he took in the activity was plain to behold. Hands deftly moving over the page, he tilted his head to peer at the image, fingers darting out to smudge a line before picking up his pencil once more.

Leaning back to examine the drawing again, Severus smiled, emotions both tender and reverential playing across his face. Her heart did a slow somersault at the unfamiliar sight, and she longed to wipe the streak of errant charcoal from his cheek.

Then, for the first time, Hermione was able to the see the page. She nearly gasped out loud. Even in black and white, the image was striking. Familiar eyes stared outward, full of zest and humour… How many times had she seen that particular expression?

They were Harry's eyes.

 _No_ , she thought dumbly, a cold sort of horror creeping in. _Not Harry. His Mum…_ The drawing had caught her in mid-speech; she was impossibly lovely. It registered then that what she saw in Severus' face was love, all-consuming and all-encompassing.

_I have been such a fool._

Somehow, Hermione got out of the room without attracting his attention. Standing at the back of the sofa, she clutched the knobby fabric for support, trying her damnedest not to cry.

The behaviour that not five minutes earlier had seemed so indicative of romantic intent transformed in the space of a heartbeat, carrying an entirely different meaning; of course he had acted so considerately that evening- it was an implicit apology for keeping her waiting so long.

Remnants of a long-ago conversation floated back to her: the faculty lounge in late summer, just before the term started. Hermione had been tucked anxiously in the corner, waiting for her first meeting to start. Minerva and Severus had been standing at the window closest to her chair, softly speaking as the rest of the teachers trickled in.

"I understand you created quite the ruckus at the Three Broomsticks last night." Her former Head of House had sounded amused.

The Headmaster snorted dryly. "And precisely how long did it take Rosemerta to floo you with that little bit of choice gossip?"

"You hadn't even made it back to the Castle yet." When Minerva spoke again, it was in tones far more conciliatory then smug. "What happened? She was vague on the details."

"Enid MacMillan made a rather bold bid for my attention."

"An unwelcome one, I take it?"

"Very. She's a nice enough girl, but Christ Almighty, she was my student not all that long ago. Why she even thought her sentiments would be welcome…."

"Bold bids for attention seem to be quite the trend this year."

Annoyed, he responded, "I wasn't intending to lead her on by offering to help her with research, just as I didn't mean to lead Samantha Jones or Morgana Bones on before that. You know how careful I am, Minerva." His next words dripped with disdain. "You've seen me when I'm besotted. I am many things, but subtle is not one of them."

"Oh, stop trying to put words in my mouth, you big grump. I know how circumspect you are; I just hope that that someday you do find some lovely witch's attentions flattering rather than embarrassing."

"Fat bloody chance of that, woman."

Severus' words seemed to echo about in her head with a terrible finality. _"You've seen me when I'm besotted. I am many things, but subtle is not one of them."_

There had been no grand gestures. Severus wasn't besotted with her.

And if that was the case, he certainly wasn't in love with her or anything of the like. She had fallen for a man that was utterly unavailable to her.

A single tear, fat and hot with mortification rolled down her cheek.

_I need to get out of here!_

With that imperative thought thrumming through her, she fled.

* * *

Severus was finished.

Lily's lovely face stared up at him, caught forever in the brilliant bloom her youth. For a moment, Severus let himself recall the sound of her infectious laughter, the silken, tensile texture of her sun-warmed hair as it ran through his fingers, and the moments of happiness found in her company.

She had been his first friend and for the longest time the only other person he had loved besides his mother. But sometime over the last year, those feelings had finally released their tenacious hold over him; after all, Lily Evans Potter had been dead for longer than she had been alive. More importantly, she had never been his to love, and never accepted the depth of his feelings.

Still, it had hit him like a stunner when he had realised that he couldn't summon her face without considerable effort. The woman now haunting his dreams was a Muggle-born Gryffindor, true, but she didn't have red hair or green eyes.

_Hermione…_

It had been another shock to acknowledge that he was interested in the woman. When he'd hired her- or rather, after Minerva had badgered him into offering a contract- he had only been mildly interested in getting to know his newest Professor. It had been Hermione's irrepressible curiosity that had eventually drawn him in; that, and the fact that she was entirely too much fun to wind up.

She was utterly magnificent with the light of battle animating her amber eyes and seemed to take as much pleasure in their ferocious debates as he did. In mid-October, he comprehended that he was in considerable danger of developing quite the tendré for his Muggle Studies Professor; by the Christmas hols, he had given up any internal pretence of not fancying her.

And yet he couldn't bring himself to break down that last wall between them. Yes, Hermione gave every appearance of enjoying his company- even seeking him out several times a week- but the doubts nagged at him endlessly. Ignoring all the messy personal history of their early acquaintance, she was younger than him by a good twenty years, and he her superior to boot. It also didn't help that he was crap at relationships, and with women in general. The situation was Complicated, warranting a capital 'C' and all.

It was, oddly enough, the good-natured banter of Neville Longbottom that finally spurred him into action. The Herbology Professor hadn't been teasing him, of course- Severus could still make him quake in his boots if he so desired- but the man had jokingly asked Hermione at breakfast if she was going to snatch the visiting Viktor Krum up again from the hordes of witches stalking him.

Outwardly, Severus showed no reaction to that bit of nonsense, but inwardly, his mind was bellowing, ' _Not a bloody chance in hell!'_ He'd lost one woman to a Quidditch-crazed buffoon; he was damned if he'd let the same happen to Hermione without at least giving it a go.

That very morning, he'd intercepted Hermione and casually asked her out to dinner to discuss her technology project. Blushing delightfully, she agreed, and Severus was left with the minor tasking of planning a quasi, almost-date. Easy-peasy, he reasoned…

Naturally, he'd spent the following two days in a state of panic.

Thankfully, a flurry of not-so-subtly pleading letters to Narcissa sorted matters out nicely, or so he'd thought. Apparently, Fate, that most fickle and meddling bitch, had other notions on the subject.

Severus had barely gotten Hermione in the door when the frantic summoning had pulled him back into the bowels of the Castle. He returned three hours later, wet, cranky, and tired to find her likewise dead to the world on his sofa. She was curled into a tight ball and clutching his battered copy of 'Jurassic Park' to her chest like it was something precious.

And just like that, all his resentment vanished with nary a whimper; the wonderfully domestic novelty of having someone waiting for him- having Hermione waiting for him- shook him to his core. She was utterly perfect, from the tips of her pink painted toes to the riotous curls devouring his couch like devil's snare.

He'd panicked. Again.

Hastily, Severus had covered her with a blanket, lit the fire and fled the room. Making a strategic retreat all the way to the shower, he'd slowly regrouped. It wasn't like he had to confess his undying devotion to her that very night; he only had to determine if her feelings complimented his.

Finally calming down enough to order supper- her favourite dish, which Narcissa had promised would score him points- he returned to the sitting room. Hermione looked more comfortable with the additions of blanket and fire, but still utterly knackered, even in sleep. Deciding to let her nap until the food arrived, he had wandered aimlessly about his rooms, his sketchpad finally catching his attention.

It had been donkey's years since he'd last drawn anything. Flipping the tablet open, he contemplated what to put to paper. The recollection of Hermione asleep on his sofa sprang to mind first, but he dismissed it. Should she catch him at it, the choice would not only be on the creepy side but forever mark him as a pathetic, sorry sod.

Drawing Lily had been a natural compromise. Besides which, it had been a way to say goodbye, to conjure her one last time before consigning her to his past for good.

The memory Severus had pulled from was the last pleasant day they'd spent together before it had all gone to shit. It had been a rare sunny spring day in Fifth Year, and they had gone down to the lake to study. She had been so astoundingly beautiful- brimming with promise and passion- that it had nearly rendered him mute. He'd sketched her mid-conversation, extolling the virtues of some medieval medicinal potion, the golden recollection of that long-gone day seemingly pouring out of him and onto the page.

And now he was finished. Finished with the drawing, and finished with Lily…

Leaning back in the hard chair, Severus winced, hearing several of his vertebrae protest audibly. _What bloody time is it?_ he wondered, and cast a quick tempus charm.

_Half-past three? Christ, I've been drawing for almost four hours!_

Rising stiffly, he rubbed a hand over his face and then grimaced as he felt the lead now decorating his expression like an abstract tattoo.

_Hermione!_

Hastily, he skidded into the dark sitting room. The fire had entirely died out, and it took a few seconds of blinking to determine that Hermione was no longer sleeping on the sofa. Lighting a lamp, he gazed around. The blanket had been neatly folded, but the food was untouched.

"Oh, bollocks," he muttered, walking towards his bedroom with no little confusion. Hermione must have returned to her rooms; given the time, he didn't blame her one iota. _But why didn't she come and fetch me?_ he mused, feeling the days persistent troubles and tensions settled over him like a misbegotten cloak.

_I'll explain and apologise tomorrow… or rather, later today…_

* * *

But Severus didn't have the chance; an outbreak of wizarding influenza struck the Castle, and he was forced to spend the next three days brewing a variety of healing draughts. He didn't see her the following two days after that, either; if he didn't know better, he would have thought that she was avoiding him.

He had finally tracked her down at the end of one of her classes, and Severus couldn't help but notice that she looked wretched. Concern flooded him, and his question came out more gruffly then intended.

"Have you been ill?"

"I've been unwell, yes." She couldn't quite meet his eyes, and something about the flicker of guilty embarrassment that passed over her expression raised his hackles.

_Why is she lying to me?_

"I wanted to apologise for the other evening," he said, watching her intently for further clues. "It was not my intent to keep you waiting the better part of the night."

"Think nothing of it. Your role doesn't exactly lend itself to off time." Hermione cleared her throat and jerkily reached into her bag. "I, uh, wrote out the proposal that we were set to discuss. I thought it more efficient than trying to set up another meeting. This close to midterm exams, I'm positively swamped, and it can't be any better for you…"

It took him a full ten seconds to muster up an answer, frozen as he was in disbelief at her sudden and unexpected rejection. "As you wish." Mechanically, he reached forward and took the papers from her hand, noting that her hands were shaking slightly.

Then, like being at ground zero of a horrifying collapse, realisations began to pummel him. Severus had seen that same guilty, discomfited, shifty-eyed look before: Lily had worn it when he tried to confess his love for her.

And now Hermione had that same expression. The woman was practically leaping out of her skin to get away, all tight-lipped tension and twitchy posture. There could only be one explanation- she had divined his feelings and manifestly did not return them.

_How could I have misjudged the situation this badly?_

The recollection of seeing her curled asleep in his rooms abruptly surfaced, the soft, sentimental feelings transforming into cruel and taloned things that ripped at his metaphorical underbelly.

 _Surely_ , a weak voice protested, _surely I am simply reading this situation wrong…there must be something else going on here…_ The Slytherin side of him demanded absolute proof of her perfidy, and he gave Hermione a final chance.

"There is still the matter of dinner, however."

Complete silence. Hermione did not leap upon the offer.

Her smile was more of a grimace when she finally demurred. "Nonsense. If anything, I owe you for considering this proposal." For a brief flash, her amber eyes met his, a wild and trapped look racing through them.

 _So… that's it, then. The royal brush-off and a half-arsed plea for a favour as if I were nothing but a foolish idiot to be led around by false promises._ Severus felt like the worst sort of a sucker for making the same mistake twice, the pain churning within swiftly being replaced by raw fury.

"I will inform you when I have reached a decision." A portion of his rage must have emerged because she took a halting step back, face leached of all colour. Not trusting himself to speak further, he billowed off to his rooms and proceeded to get appallingly pissed, not caring the least that it was only half eleven.


	2. The Plot Thickens

_Three Months Later_

"…and I don't understand how you can be so keen on combining the fields of potions and chemistry, and yet be so opposed to bringing other, more accessible Muggle technologies into the Castle!"

"And are you at all aware of the sort of moronic and immoral things that youths do on computers? Now, Professor Granger, let us extrapolate that knowledge to the current population. Can you imagine what sort of mischief that they would create? Controlling the Restricted Section is bad enough, but the internet as well?"

"I've told you, they've reliable filters for that sort of thing..."

Minerva McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose in the futile attempt to ward off a budding headache brought on by the raging argument coming from her left. As usual, Severus and Hermione were going it at the High Table; despite the early hour and the fact that it was Monday morning, the pair had seemingly no difficulty summoning enough vitriol to continue the row that they had started weeks before.

 _Oh, but for one peaceful morning. Just one, without the two of them duking it out like demented, curse-addled nifflers…_ Warily, she motioned to Poppy, who was sitting to her right. "Pass the marmalade, will you?

Poppy did as requested, a faint moue of distaste crossing her face. "I don't know how you can eat something so sweet without all that," she jabbed her knife in the direction of the Muggle Studies Professor and the Headmaster, "…curdling your stomach. I don't know how much more I can take, quite frankly."

"Oh, for Pete's sake, a single computer lab does not constitute a den of inequity…" Minerva heard Hermione hiss in a nettled sort of tone.

Pomona, placing a dry piece of toast back on her plate, gave a quiet chuff of annoyance and joined in the lament. "Pity we can't stun them, strip them, and shove them into the nearest broom closet. That ought to sort out matters rather quickly, don't you think?"

"From your lips to Merlin's ears," Minerva replied acidly.

"This is an enchanted Castle," Neville Longbottom mused. "Just how hard could it be?"

Minerva slanted another glance at the pair; Hermione was gesturing wildly with one hand, the vibrant effervescence of her hair only matched by the sparks of combat written across her face. Severus, for his part, was lounging back in the large, ornate throne of a Headmaster's chair with an expression that could only be described as despotic. As he drummed his fingers on the wooden arms, he seemed to radiate masculine power and authority; really, Minerva marvelled, it was frankly astounding that the bloody man had ever managed to fool anybody into thinking that he would willingly serve them.

What seemed even more screamingly obvious was that Severus and Hermione quite fancied each other. That particular brand of chemistry was present in every hot-eyed glance, infused the barbs that they joyfully threw at each other, and permeated the air like a handful of stink bombs whenever they were present in the same room together.

Alas, they were both either blind to it or unwilling to put everyone in the Castle out of their misery by finally reaching an understanding. Thus, the students, staff and other sundry inhabitants of Hogwarts were stuck listening to Headmaster Snape and Professor Granger attempt to work out their rampant, raging frustrations in a wholly non-productive manner… breakfast, lunch, and supper.

The jarring clink of a fork hitting a plate caused Minerva- not to mention the rest of the people assembled in the Great Hall- to turn and openly stare at the rowing couple. With a muted sigh, Minerva loosened her wand from the sheath on her arm. _One of these days, it's going to get ugly. My luck, I'll be the one left picking up the scattered pieces and explaining it all to the board…_

"You are purposely misunderstanding me, and being a selectively idiotic Luddite to boot!" Hermione practically yelled into the sudden quiet.

That baffling statement apparently marked the end of Severus' patience; with a loud, grating, shriek, he shoved the chair back and rose. Placing a hand flat on the table, he loomed over Hermione, black eyes snapping and countenance supremely hostile.

For one, painfully long moment, the two glared, faces a mere hairsbreadth away from each other. Everyone seemed to hold their breaths; as Hermione licked her lip nervously, something dark and possessive flickered through Severus' gaze…

Then he blinked and went white-faced. "No." He enunciated the words carefully and precisely. For all that they were spoken, they seemed to travel the length breadth of the Hall. "For the final time, the answer is no, Professor Granger, and if you dare bring up this topic again, I will not hesitate to sack you."

Without waiting for a response, he straightened up, and with a last, venomous glance stalked out the staff exit.

Next to her, she heard Poppy- or perhaps it was Pomona- suck in a breath at the bald threat. Other that shocked exclamation, the Great Hall was frozen and silent. In the periphery of her vision, Minerva could see a large piece of smoked kipper fall out the open mouth of a Hufflepuff. Indeed, with all of the cutlery and goblets stuck in mid-air, it appeared that the assembled student body had been collectively hit by a _Petrificus Totalus_.

Minerva watched as Hermione's gaze widened, a deep, humiliated flush sweeping across her face as she took in the fact that everyone was watching her. Gaze dropping again to her half-empty plate, Hermione swallowed a couple of times; Minerva could see a sheen of tears rapidly well up in the younger woman's eyes.

 _Oh, bugger…_ thought Minerva, a swell of compassion filling her. But before she could do more than reach a hand out, she watched Hermione ruthlessly shove her emotions back under lock and key, a grey mask of indifference sliding over her face. Carefully, her former student placed her napkin- neatly folded, of course- back onto the table, stood, and walked out the opposite exit with far less dramatics than Severus had employed.

As the door shut behind her, the chatter of the Hall resumed, gaining momentum like an avalanche.

Minerva could feel her own expression cross into lines of clear disapproval; while Hermione should have known better than to persist in arguing with Severus- in public, no less- the idiotic man had also been a complete arse. Meeting the surprised and shocked gazes of her tablemates, Minerva noted that it appeared that they were all in agreement about that.

Before she could say anything, Minerva saw Neville's face blanch. "Oh, fuck…" the Herbology assistant swore loudly, startling those around him.

"Professor Longbottom, language!" Minerva interjected, aware that students could hear their conversation.

He had the grace to look abashed and quickly proffered an explanation. "My apologies, Minerva. It's just that I've remembered that we have a staff meeting after supper…"

"Oh… indeed," she said weakly, thinking of the fireworks that were sure to come. _I'm really not sure I can watch the bloodletting that is sure to follow…_

Pomona glanced at Neville, a crafty glint blooming in her eyes. "You know, we've some juvenile mandrakes that just about need re-potting…"

"Have we received the shipment of new earmuffs?" Neville inquired after a beat.

"As a matter of fact, we haven't. We'd just have to take our chances on the old, broken down ones…"

"Pity, that," Neville replied, sounding suddenly hopeful. "It would truly be a shame if we were rendered unconscious for several hours due to effects of a mandrake cry."

"As Deputy Headmistress," Minerva said, "…it is my job to remind you that all staff meetings are mandatory." She took a sip of her now-cold tea, grimacing at the bitter flavour. "However, should you require any assistance in the greenhouses today, please don't hesitate to ask."

The table went silent, each of them pondering the evening to come, as well as possible escapes.

"I think that I'll go up and brew some additional Headache Potion," Poppy murmured finally, sounding rather sick herself.

Minerva pinched her nose again; her own headache could no longer be qualified as incipient. "Be a love, Poppy, and send me down a bottle when you've finished."

The Healer nodded and gave her reassuring squeeze of the shoulder as she got up. "I'll send you two."

* * *

For all that supper was a quiet affair, it was not rendered any more palatable by the veneer of placidity.

Minerva arrived both tetchy and late to the meal, having been forced to deliver a stinging denouncement to the Gryffindor Prefects who she'd caught gossiping about the morning's incident in an empty classroom.

As she entered the Great Hall, she noted that Severus was an island upon himself; no one was seated in the chairs to either side of him. Nor, Minerva saw, was Hermione Granger present at the table. At the sound of her heels on the flagstones, Severus' gaze flicked up, but then subsided once he registered that it was her, rather than Hermione.

 _So, laddie… regretting what you said just yet?_ Minerva thought through gritted teeth. But as she watched the man pick at his food, sympathy pushed at her. For all that he could be an unmitigated arse, Severus was also a surprisingly good Headmaster- when he wasn't fighting with Hermione, that was- and she had far too many memories of him sitting alone, shunned by the staff during his horrid first year as Head. The slight hunch of his shoulders told her much about his mental state, and she recalled a certain long-ago scene outside the Gryffindor Common Room involving Severus and Lily Potter.

_Well, at least the man is remarkably consistent in his inability to successfully negotiate the rocky shoals of romance… and since any hint of pity is liable to wind him up further, it seems my only recourse is hit him over the head with a blunt dose of Gryffindor advice._

Sitting down next to him with a purposeful swish of her skirt, Minerva wordlessly placed a Muffliato Charm on their little section of the High Table.

"So," she inquired as she tapped her menu to order the cream of tomato soup, "…have you apologised yet?"

Severus stiffened next to her. "I fail to see why I must be the one to apologise. She was the one shrieking like a fishwife during breakfast."

Minerva sent him an exasperated glare. "We can start with the fact that you are the Headmaster, and thus should always demonstrate the better decorum. Not to mention that you are older, and thus presumably wiser."

With an irritated snap, she placed her napkin upon her lap. "Ignoring all that, of course, I will only say that Hermione had a decent reason for 'shrieking like a fishwife.' You called her insufferable no less than three times during your little spat- please do to try to find a new adjective, by the way. I do believe that your vocabulary is expansive enough to accommodate the challenge," she said as a pointed aside, and ladled a goodly amount of herb croutons into her steaming soup.

She did not flinch as the full force of Severus' ire was transferred to her, continuing in a blithe tone. "The proposal for building a computer laboratory has been her baby for the last six months, and you didn't so much as dismiss her idea, Severus, as crush it into oblivion and Vanish the resulting ash. And for what reason? Last year you were looking into the idea of putting a computer in the library. Her idea is much the same, only on a grander scale…"

"Why? Beyond the obvious difficulties with the charms required to run such a delicate Muggle object at Hogwarts, the costs are simply prohibitive…" he began viciously, but Minerva cut him off.

"As the budget falls under my purview, I'll caution you to not try and pull that song and dance on me. It can easily accommodate such expenditure, as you are well aware. Besides which, you and I both know that Filius is practically foaming at the mouth to develop the charms work, and the resulting license fees could bring in quite the windfall."

Severus continued to sulk, and she took advantage of his silence.

"I just don't understand," she murmured in a softer voice. "Six months ago, the two of you were getting on just fine, but now you nearly shout the Castle down whenever you're within earshot of each other. What happened?"

"Nothing happened!" he spat, looking truly angry for the first time.

"Then more's the pity," she shot back. "Because she fancies you, and you clearly fancy her!"

Severus glowered at her but did not challenge the assertion right away. _Well, that's progress, at least. This time last week he'd be all up in arms with the suggestion that he had a liking for our Muggle Studies Professor…_

Spearing a piece of meat far harder than necessary, Severus finally hissed, "I think it very clear what Professor Granger's feelings towards me are. And even if I was foolish enough to carry some sort of amorous regard for her, I am not only her supervisor, but her former professor, and a great deal older than her. Don't try to paint the situation into something simple."

Minerva rolled her eyes. "Amorous regard? Oh, come off that load of rot. With sentiment like that, it's little wonder you've been forced to furiously sublimate these last three months." Mocking his tone, she ploughed on. "Furthermore, I can perform her evaluations, most women in the UK under the age of forty are former students of yours, and when you are eighty and she sixty, nary an eyebrow will be raised at the vast age difference between the two of you."

"It's not that simple," he repeated again through clenched teeth.

"Codswallop," she said succinctly. She shifted, however, and again gentled her tone. "Severus, don't make the same mistake as I did and assume that just because a matter of the heart is difficult, doesn't mean that it's not worth trying to work out."

Again, he said nothing to her words, but point made, Minerva began to eat her supper, relishing the rare quiet. After several more minutes of half-heartily poking at his food, Severus rose from the table.

Minerva glanced up at the tall, black-haired man who was gazing down at her, wondering if he would ever be able to move beyond his past. "There is another reason to apologise to her, of course."

"And what, Madame, would that be?"

She held his gaze steadily. "Because if you are going to threaten someone with sacking, it's best to do so in private, lest you utterly humiliate them. You very nearly made her cry in front of the entire school."

Minerva was relieved to see that he flinched a little at that last bit of information. "I need to get ready for the staff meeting," he finally mumbled, glancing away.

"You do that. And please, do try to keep the shouting to a minimum tonight. Some of us have rather bad headaches."

"That time of the month?" he responded with a sneer.

She matched his expression with a scowl. "Severus Tobias Snape, don't you dare get shirty with me. I am not above leaving you hairballs in your bed if you continue with that puerile, disrespectful nonsense." With that, Minerva sharply cancelled the Muffliato Charm, figuring that anything else that needed to be said should be heard by all.

Severus closed his eyes momentarily, regaining a touch of his normally cool composure. "Cease your meddling, Minerva, and eat your supper. You didn't have enough at breakfast to nourish a grindylow."

He flounced off, and Minerva sighed deeply. _Just when I want to box him about the ears, he says something almost… nice._

* * *

Everyone was on edge as they came into the staff room. Thankfully, the first part of the meeting went off with a minimum of fuss. Hermione was not in her regular chair near the head of the table, but that did not surprise Minerva at all; instead, she was perched on one of the stools near the back, half hidden by a trailing ficus.

The problem came when it was time to discuss the most recent proposals of the various curriculum committees and school improvement panels. Not only was Hermione on the majority of the groups, she normally acted as the spokesperson for them, or at the very least, asked enough questions to stimulate a productive discussion amongst the staff members.

She didn't say a word.

And without her typical contributions- or rather, poking and prodding- any attempt at discussion fell utterly flat. They limped through the first three groups- a painful process that only seem to inflame Severus' temper further- and were moving onto the fourth panel when Minerva noticed that Hermione was not only refusing to participate but also neglecting her usual habit of record taking.

Instead, she was knitting. It was a poor job of it, but the needles did appear sharper than strictly necessary.

Alas, if there was anything that Severus abhorred, it was staff multi-tasking in meetings; like his classes, he demanded that everyone pay close attention for the entire duration or risk his considerable ire. _Oh, Hermione, did this have to be the one time you resorted to juvenile tactics_? Minerva mentally sighed, just as the Headmaster's attention was drawn by the flash of metal and yarn.

"Professor Granger, do you now hold yourself exempt from the usual etiquette of our meetings?

She deliberately took her time in finishing the row before glancing up. "No," Hermione replied, voice flat. "I simply know how little you value or want my opinions. Accordingly, I decided to occupy myself with something at least marginally productive." Without waiting for his response, she went back to the knitting.

The action served as the straw that broke the camel's back. Minerva saw Severus' face turn a genuinely alarming shade of puce and one of the veins on his temple begin to pulse in a manner that boded only ill. Having known the daft pillock since the age of eleven, she knew that he was mere seconds away from saying something horribly unforgivable; frantically praying that he had gotten out of the habit casting a shielding charm during staff meetings, Minerva hit him with her strongest _silenco_ and stood, letting her magic flare about her.

In the standard order of things- that is to say, had Albus not been a secretive, conniving twat who had buggered things up beyond belief- she would have been the current Headmistress. It was a fact that Severus had readily acknowledged once the dust of the final battle had settled, offering to step aside to restore the previous hierarchy. She had declined, knowing that the only way to repair his reputation was for him to stay Headmaster. The choice had given her one unexpected perk, however- the occasional ability to successfully pull rank on him.

Letting that mantle of power settle over her, she gazed at Severus. "Enough," she intoned into the crackling quiet. _I will not let you ruin this!_ He glared back at her but did not dare disobey the unspoken edict.

"This meeting has concluded."

No one so much as twitched a muscle until Severus gave a low snarl and made for the back exit; as soon as he had done so, Hermione rose and left from the main door.

"If," Minerva said, addressing the rest of the staff, "…I catch any of you gossiping, or otherwise speaking in a fashion that does not behove your position as fine educators in this institution, I will make you most sincerely regret it. Is that understood?"

Glowering at each person in turn- and other than Filius and Pomona, she had taught them all and was well aware of how to intimidate- she made sure that there was no mistaking the promise in her words.

"You are dismissed," she announced crisply, and remained standing in place until the majority of staff had filed out, leaving only Poppy, Pomona, Neville, and Filius gathered around the main table. With a wave of his wand, Filius put up a powerful anti-eavesdropping charm.

"So," the petite professor asked, "…is this to be a council of war?"

"Perhaps." Minerva sat gracelessly, feeling a touch shaky now that the worst of it was over.

"I think that the first thing that we need to determine is whether or not anything can be salvaged from this debacle, or if we are merely attempting to make sure the entire Castle isn't going to go up in flames when the two of them finally duke it out," Neville stated firmly.

Poppy nodded in agreement. "I can't speak for anyone else, but I do believe that there is hope… if we do a bit of creative bodgering. Mind you, I'm not normally one for meddling, but I can't see any other way to make this work. There is no question that if this continues much longer, we'll be short both a Muggle Studies Professor and Headmaster."

A general chorus of agreement met her statement.

"I still say that we stun them, strip them, and shove them into the nearest broom closet," Pomona exclaimed, thumping a hand down on the table for emphasis.

"My dear, as much as you are our acknowledged expert concerning more earthy matters, you must admit that it is more complicated than that," Minerva said dryly.

"No, it's not," the other woman countered. "This is all about sex, or the lack thereof. If the two of them got that part straightened out, the rest would follow."

"It's not a half bad notion," Poppy murmured. "Assuming we could do it in such a way that they couldn't escape, hurt each other, and were forced to actually talk things out rather than scream like petulant toddlers in need of a spanking."

"And," Filius said with a dark chuckle, "…we must do so without getting caught in the process. I can only imagine what Severus would do if he caught us conspiring against him again."

Neville took a deep breath, appearing nervous for the first time. "I concur with Pomona, and also took the liberty of speaking with George Weasley this afternoon…"

* * *

Several hours later, Hermione ghosted down one of the empty corridors on her first circuit of evening rounds. She hoped that for once, the students would be smart enough to stay either in their common rooms or not get caught out; it would be damn near intolerable to have to take a student up to the Headmaster for something discipline related.

 _On the plus side_ , she thought to herself, _I can personally deliver my letter of resignation should that unlucky event occur…_ The thought of leaving Hogwarts- of not just abandoning her friends, but her dream position- made her feel sick, but likewise, the notion of staying and continuing this wretched dance with the Headmaster was unbearable.

She still wasn't sure how the proceedings had devolved so rapidly; her plan, inasmuch as she had one, was to steer clear of the Headmaster for several weeks until she was in better command of her emotions and wouldn't give herself away. That particular notion had been blown to shreds when Hermione had received her proposal back a fortnight later, dripping with enough red ink that it looked like it had been sent through an abattoir.

The attack on her work had been deeply personal; in addition to the scathing commentary on the proposal, Snape had also nit-picked her grammar, use of language and in a final, petty diatribe, her penmanship. It had been such a return to the Snape of her youth that she at first had been unable to do anything but stare at in shocked horror.

Three days later she had sent him an amended technology proposal, firmly rebutting his dubious claims by citing studies from American, Canadian and Dutch magical communities. Hermione had also taken the time to get the document proofed by none other than Luna Lovegood, who despite her dreamy nature was the biggest grammatical pedant she had ever meet.

It too was returned, and Hermione had decided to bite the bullet and confront Snape personally; she didn't think that he wouldn't dare be that rude in person.

She was very, very wrong.

If there was an upside to this entire fracas, it was that Snape's vile behaviour had effectively killed her feelings for him, leaving behind only anger and hurt. She didn't know why he had turned so nasty- did he really find her that repellent?- and could only assume that he had somehow discovered that she had fancied him and objected to that notion strongly.

 _What an absolute mess_ , Hermione thought with a sigh. _Pity I don't have a time turner to go back and do things differently…_

An odd, muffled thump from further down the dark hallway drew her attention, and she squinted, trying to make out the source of the noise. While no movement caught her eye, there was a strange oblong white box lying in the middle of the corridor. Cautiously, Hermione sent out several detection charms. When they revealed nothing amiss, she walked over.

It was a Weasley Wizarding Wheezes Patented Daydream Charm- the deluxe version, according to the packaging. 'FULFIL ALL YOUR PIRATICAL FANTASIES' the cover of the box blared in an obnoxious orange script. 'NOW WITH FORTY PERCENT MORE BATTLES!'

"Oh, bother. How on earth did this get here?" she muttered and peered behind the statue where it had apparently fallen from. Two more boxes were shoved behind the marble base, and she pulled them out, noting that they were similar items from the joke shop.

Reckoning that a student must have hidden them there, she scoured the area for other contraband. Finding nothing, she tucked the boxes under her arm and started for the staff closet where such items were stored until they were destroyed.

This close to the end of the term, the closet was positively stuffed to the gills with everything from dung bombs to love potions, and the only place to wedge the boxes in was the upper corner- well out Hermione's reach. Grimacing, she carefully started to levitate them to the open area, careful not to jar the precariously stacked shelves.

A woollen whisper was the only warning she received before a dark shape pounced.

"What are you doing here?" The low, menacing hiss and iron hand on her shoulder scared her badly enough that she yipped, concentration wildly faltering. Predictably, the floating boxes jerked upward, knocked over a row of bottles. The resulting cascade of contraband pelted Hermione for several seconds, eventually covering her feet in the accumulated evidence of student mischief.

Slowly, she turned and glared at the Headmaster, feeling a cold trickle as something soaked into her shoe.

"I was attempting to do my job," she responded through gritted teeth, determined to not lose her cool. "During my rounds, I found several boxes of Daydream Charms in the hallway and came here to secure them."

He glowered at that, apparently having no ready rejoinder. In the half-light of the hallway, Snape was a man of complete contrasts, the indigo, flowing fabric of his robes and pale alabaster perfection of skin marking him indelibly as a creature of the night. Her heart, ever a traitorous thing, began to beat at triple time. Hermione was both chagrined and furious to find that she still found him dangerously attractive.

In a failing bid to distract herself, Hermione reached down and began clean the mess surrounding her. "And just what exactly are you doing here?"

"I received a report that Peeves was attempting to break into the closet," he told her shortly, making no move to help.

The action- or rather, his lack thereof- angered her, and Hermione felt her temper begin to fray dangerously. "Well, as you can see, it wasn't Peeves, it was me." As she straightened up, she felt the crinkle of parchment in her robes and made a split second decision. Pulling the letter of resignation out, she thrust it at him belligerently. "Nevertheless, your trip isn't completely wasted."

Narrowed black eyes examined the letter in her hand, but again, he made no move forward. The air around them seemed to thicken, and it took Hermione a moment to realise that it wasn't just her imagination; a curiously heavy current of magic was filling the small space. Snape stiffened at the same time she did, ebony wand whipping out.

Then the heavy black door slammed shut, and with a flash of blue, disappeared entirely.

They both lunged forward, but it was of no use; there was nothing but a blank brick space in front of them.

"What did you do?" he bellowed, wand shooting sparks as he sent a barrage of magic towards the vanished door.

"Nothing! You're the bloody Headmaster- you should know what's going on!" Hermione froze as the air danced with visible magic, a feeling of utter dread filling her.

The acrid smell of something burning reached them, and Snape grabbed at her frantically, yanking her to his chest and throwing up a shield charm. Hermione didn't have a chance to protest; with a single, deafening pop, the world exploded into white all around them.


	3. Caught in the Closet

Eyes squeezed tightly shut, and body braced for the oncoming explosion, Severus waited for the inevitable assault of fiery, agonising pain.

He waited.

And then he waited a bit more.

Eventually, something feather-soft and coolly delicate dotted his face. It was the most gentle of onslaughts- and one that reminded him rather like… snowflakes.

_SNOW?_

With a shuddering, heaving gasp, Severus wrenched his eyes open to find himself surrounded by a rolling landscape of pure, brilliant white broken only by a line of trees to his right.

_Oh, bugger it all! I've fallen off the twig… joined_ _the bleedin' choir invisible…_ _I'm an ex-parrot!_

Severus had just started to mourn his inglorious end- to be stuck down in a contraband closet, for fuck's sake!- when he registered that he wasn't alone. Hermione- eyes likewise screwed tightly shut- was pressed into his side with an expression of utter terror on her pale face. Oddly, she was garbed in a bright red Victorian riding habit rather than the utilitarian work robes of just seconds ago.

He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it with a snap with the understanding that he hadn't the faintest idea what to say.

_Sooo… not dead, then? Or just dead and in the queerest sort of costumed hell?_

"Oh, God. I've died!" Hermione suddenly cried, eyes popping open. She lurched away from him, falling to her knees with a muted thump. "Shit! That bloody well hurt! There are rocks under all this snow.."

Her babble trickled off as she took in the peculiarities of the world around them; for all that the Highlands could be cold in May, this much snow was unheard of, and the boreal copse around them was markedly different from the coniferous Forbidden Forest that surrounded the Castle.

"I don't think that we are dead," Snape said slowly, senses screaming in the muffled silence of the snowfall.

Hermione jerked at the sound of his voice, rising cautiously and brushing off her cloak as she scanned the trees around them. Belatedly, he realised his outfit had changed as well- a green velvet cloak had replaced woollen black, and while the cut of his frock coat and trousers were different, it wasn't so off as to make him uncomfortable.

Pulling her wand out, she attempted to cast a warming charm with no effect, and he met a similar result when he tried.

"Where are we, and why doesn't our magic work?" she asked quietly, nudging a large woven basket at her feet.

A burlap sack lay at his own boots, and a niggle of suspicion began to bloom. "What's in your basket?"

"Dragonhide gloves, long-handled scissors and what appears to be a picnic lunch." She started to glare at him, a constellation of snowflakes covering her hair in a manner reminiscent of lace. "Severus, what exactly is going on?"

Reaching into the bag, he pulled out a similar set of gloves, shears, and bottle of wine. _This cannot be happening!_ "When we get back, I'm going to kill him!" Glaring up into the swirling white of the sky, he yelled, "You'd better run and hide, you ginger twat, because when I get finished with you…"

"If," Hermione interrupted through gritted teeth, "…you don't start explaining yourself right now, I will use these shears in a manner not intended by their manufacturer."

He laughed humourlessly at her threat. "We are not dead, nor transported to another realm; we are, in fact, still laying in the contraband closet on the fourth floor."

She made it a point to gaze around at the winter landscape derisively. "Oh really?"

"Really." Severus matched her sarcasm. "I don't suppose that you've spoken with George Weasley lately, have you?"

Mouth thinning, she answered. "No."

"About a month ago, he released a new version of the Daydream Charms marketed to adults and meant to be used either in tandem or in groups. Rather than being limited to a certain amount of time, they are scenario based- the daydream only ends when one fulfils the story objectives."

Her hands settled on her hips. "And what, pray tell, is the scenario that we are stuck in?"

Severus couldn't answer for a long moment, twin emotions of incredulous black humour and horror vying for supremacy; he was quite literally in a quagmire of his own making. "It's a limited edition Daydream Charm he created for the holidays." His mind lurched over the particulars, recalling that George had assured him that it was ensorceled in such a way that it could only be used by consenting adults.

He had apparently let the silence linger a touch too long. With a threatening 'snick' Hermione waved the shears about, and his bollocks reflexively retreated somewhere north of his liver. Attention duly refocused on the task at hand, he spat out the remainder of the information. "It's a daydream charm meant for two; an afternoon spent collecting enchanted mistletoe in the Highlands is interrupted by a blizzard blowing in. The couple seeks shelter in a shepherd's hut, and, well, uh, a romantic interlude follows."

"The couple, in this case, meaning us?" Hermione clarified icily.

"Yes."

"And is there a fail-safe phrase to get us out of here?"

"Naturally."

Her eyes glinted warningly, and from the way that she held the shears, he knew that he had no choice in reaching the ones in the bag at his feet in time to save his wedding tackle.

"And what is that fail-safe?"

"It would have been printed on the box." Severus kept his voice scrupulously neutral. "I don't suppose you read any of the instructions, did you?"

"I did not." Hermione paused, clearly doing the maths. "Does this mean that we are stuck in here until we shag?"

"Not quite," he responded, clearing his throat. The thought of Hermione naked under him hit him like a load of bricks. How often had he dreamt of it before everything had gone to pot? "The charm is designed to end after four hours."

"So we only have to hold out until then?"

He shook his head. "Four hours out there is not the same as four hours in the scenario. It could be several days on this end."

Suspicion coloured her tone. "And just how come you know so much about the bloody charm?"

Never more had Severus wished more for a shielding spell. "Because I helped George work out some of the quirks."

Rage lit her expression. "Let me get this straight: not only am I stuck in a glorified winter camping scenario, but you created a sexual fantasy in a box while at the same time objecting to me bringing the internet to Hogwarts because it might corrupt the students?!"

"That is not at all equivalent!" he objected, anger making a rapid return.

"Like hell it isn't! Fuck you, Severus Snape, and the high horse you rode in on!"

Laughter a bitter, sour noise, he sneered down at her. "Don't get ahead of yourself, Professor Granger. The fucking very well may come later, but as perverse as George Weasley is, I hardly think that he would include a horse in this particular product."

Hermione slapped him, the impact rocking him back on his feet. They stared at each other for an excruciatingly charged moment, the resentment and hurt of the past several months flowing between them like poisoned air.

"Just as I think that you couldn't possibly be more hateful, you once again exceed all expectations." Snatching up the basket, she started to march away.

"Where do you think you are going?" he growled, the snow starting to fall harder around them.

Hermione didn't turn around. "To find the damn hut. I'm not spending the night out in this."

* * *

In the end, Severus began to search for the shepherd's hut as well. By carving a series of runes into the tree trunks around him, he discovered that the magical construct of their world allowed for a twenty-minute walk in any direction before turning in on its self.

He made four circuits without any sign of either the hut or Hermione, and in that time the storm had worsened considerably. The wind- a biting, bone-chilling creature- moaned ominous warnings around him. Moreover, the snow no longer fell in gentle and delicate flakes, shifting instead into wet, heavy clumps that were making it increasingly hard to walk or navigate. Severus' unanticipated ramble had another effect as well- for the first time in weeks, his temper had finally cooled.

Worry started to nag at him, and he was left wondering what Minerva or Poppy would make of this messy predicament. _Probably laugh themselves silly_ , he thought, _and Minerva would say something along the lines of 'buck up, buttercup!' On the other hand, had she heard my earlier statement to Hermione, she would skin me alive and then take great pleasure in leaving my various bits out in the cold to freeze._

He had crossed the line, and Snape knew it; nothing short of an unambiguous apology was required given his distasteful words. _How?_ he wondered, thinking back to his earlier hopes. _How could I have misread the situation so badly?_

If he were honest with himself- and that was always an awkward proposition- he been acting not just the fool, but had made a swift return to the black-hearted bastard as well. His mother had oft called him a stubborn sod, and the quality was both a blessing and a curse. Once he became fixated on something- or in this case, someone- he was unable to let go. It had allowed him to successfully play his part as a double agent for nearly twenty years, but it had also led him to act like a deranged madman on more than one occasion.

Severus should have been able to ignore Hermione, to act the part of the mature, genial Headmaster that he had worked so hard to cultivate. But in the weeks following her rejection, he had been unable to do so; much like a sore tooth, he couldn't help but prod at her endlessly. Unsurprisingly, she had prodded back, and whilst he didn't particularly enjoy playing the role of dictatorial, cruel tyrant, it was clear that he didn't have a scrap of self-control when it came to Hermione.

_And once again, you've managed to say some truly terrible things to a woman that you care about. Well done! Have you learned nothing over the years?_

Hearing a muffled snap coming from a thicket to his left, Snape struggled through a large drift, banging his chilled feet on a hidden rock. As he cleared the obstacle, a branch nearly brained him. He grunted as it hit his shoulder and pulled it the rest of the way down.

Hermione was attempting to take the limb off the trunk with the aid of her shears. From what he could deduce, she was building a shelter in the lee of two fallen trees using pine boughs. Fleetingly, he wondered where she had learned such woodland survival skills, and more importantly, if there would be room enough for two. Being a city lad born and bred, Severus hadn't the faintest idea how to go about constructing his own, and with no magic available was nearly helpless.

"No luck, then?" The cold robbed his question of any mockery.

She glowered at him over her shoulder. "Oh, no, I'm just out here freezing my arse off for shits and giggles."

A strong gale buffeted him forward another step, and he froze as a ripple of magic danced over his sodden cloak. _Oh, Christ, is this torture finally ending? And not a moment too late…_

"What was that?" Hermione cried, evidently experiencing the same sensation that he had.

Unfortunately, the world stubbornly remained a frigid wasteland. Severus abruptly decided that it was time to mend fences as best as he could. He didn't think that one could die in a Daydream Charm but wasn't willing to risk it.

"I think that we should stay together from here on out," he began and then tried to step back as Hermione dislodged a mound of snow off a branch above him in her quest for another bough. Unexpectedly, a jolt of pure magic zapped him, and he pitched forward again, pinwheeling in an effort to not face plant into a drift.

The flash of red and green above him gave him a clue as to the problem. "Granger," he said tiredly, "…look up."

Mulishly she did so, and her shoulders slumped as she took in the enchanted mistletoe dangling above them. Ensnared as they were by the plant's magic, they would not be able to move more than three feet from each other or the plant; compounding the bad luck, her half-made shelter was a good six feet away.

It was freeze or kiss.

He held up his hands placatingly, wincing as the icy air scoured away what little warmth remained. "Can we declare a cease-fire for as long as it takes to get out of this?"

She said nothing, and he tried to reason with her. "I think that if we mollify the charm by acting… appropriately, conditions will improve."

"I'm not sleeping with you to mollify some bloody spell that you and George Weasley concocted!" Hermione yelled.

"That's not what I'm suggesting." Resignedly, he gestured upward towards the mistletoe. "I don't need to spell out what that particular pestilence hanging over our heads means. And while I agree that I was completely out of line earlier, I also don't fancy becoming pillars of snow just because we can't come to terms. You can give me the proper bollocksing that I deserve when we get back to the closet, all right?"

Hermione softened, but only just. "It's not just today that you've been a bastard."

He was silent for a second; it was the truth- he had been an utter bastard to her- but the fault wasn't entirely his. As the old saying went, it took two to tango. She had rejected him and then tried to profit from his feelings. _Focus on the main concern, Snape_ , cut in his internal voice of survival. _Get out of this sub-arctic hellhole, and then you can have it out. Until then, keep your gob shut._

"That's true," he agreed and left it at that.

She stared at her snow-covered feet for almost a minute. "Fine," she finally said. "Kiss me and get it over with."

He didn't immediately close the remaining distance between them. "I would appreciate it if you would drop the pruning shears first."

"I'm not sure I can," she grumbled, but did as requested, slowly peeling her fingers back from the wooden handle of the shears.

Cautiously, he stepped forward until his cloak met hers. The kiss was brief- more a press of chapped lips than anything else- and nothing like his heated imaginings. Still, it did the trick. With a shimmer, Severus saw a small structure appear on a far hill.

Pointing, he asked, "Shall we?"

* * *

It was a wretched slog, and the shepherd's hut lived up to its humble name, being nothing more than filthy hovel of stone and dirt. There was no bed, only a rough pallet, and no peat or coals to burn; while they were nominally out of the weather, it felt no warmer inside.

Feeling his trousers drip water onto the hard packed floor, Snape glanced over to Hermione. She was shaking uncontrollably, face gone grey in the deepening gloom. A single broken chair lay discarded in the corner, and he wondered if he could somehow light that in the fireplace to give them some warmth.

 _Or_ , that same sneaky voice said, _you could just kiss her again and see what happens…_

He looked at Hermione, misery incarnate, and then dubiously over to the mouldering chair.

_Right. Kissing it is. Assuming she allows me, of course…_

"Will you humour me, Hermione?"

Rather than answering, she sneezed three times in quick secession, almost doubling over with the force of it. When she eventually straightened up, it was to glance around their meagre shelter with a cynical gaze, evidentially coming to the same conclusion that he had. "At this point, I would humour Dolores Umbridge if it meant that I could be warm and dry. Do your worst."

Ignoring the implicit insult, Severus walked over to her, his heart pounding oddly in his chest. "Close your eyes," he told her quietly.

It took her a moment to comply, amber eyes only reluctantly fluttering shut. She was an incongruous sight in the filth of the hut, the bright red riding habit having long expired due to the ravages of the weather and hair a half-frozen, frizzy mass. And yet as Severus stood in front of her, something of his previous sentiment trickled back; Hermione was still precious to him, and despite everything, he wanted her.

Regret, sharp and fierce, filled him. Severus didn't want it to happen like this. He didn't want to kiss her because of some daft spell. He certainly didn't want her to grant him a kiss because she had considered it her best chance of survival.

But it was all he had.

Swallowing painfully, he summoned his silkiest, most honeyed tones, hoping that he could weave a spell capable of banishing the last three months.

"Pretend that we were really out in the woods gathering mistletoe… that you actually wanted to be there with me." Gingerly, he stretched a hand out, settling it lightly on the flare of her hip. "Pretend that we've been dancing around each other for months. I finally worked up the courage to ask you out- you see, I had been terribly afraid of rejection, and was quite sure that I would muck things up even if I tried- but the afternoon went without a hitch. Like any smart Slytherin, I used every opportunity to touch you- a guiding hand here and there, fussing over your gloves to make sure that they fit correctly- and in return, you shamelessly trapped me under a bough of mistletoe as any good Gryffindor ought."

Cupping the porcelain curve of her cheek in one callused palm, Severus dragged the pad of his thumb over her soft lips. "Our first kiss was magical. Oh, it's a poor description, and a trite one at that, but how else can you describe the moment when you discover that your most ardent feelings are not just appreciated, but returned? You trembled when I touched you, and I shook when you moaned my name. It was… glorious."

Hermione's eyes flew open, the confusing welter of emotions in her gaze causing his heart to skip a beat. He had no notion what she was thinking and only a vague command of his own mind. Face turning beet-red, he nearly lost his nerve. "Close your eyes," he instructed again, knowing that he couldn't do this if she were watching him.

She opened her mouth, clearly intent on asking a question; he silenced it by placing two gentle fingers over her lips. "Please, Hermione."

With something close to sigh, she obeyed.

"We were so lost in each other that we didn't notice the shifting weather until it was far too late. And now… now we are stuck together in this shepherd's hut. We both know what's going to happen. The choice has been taken out of our hands, and secretly, we're both glad of it."

Angling his body next to her, he leaning forward until only the barest of margins separated them. "It's just the two of us. The two of us, and this…" For one tortuous moment, they traded breaths, their lungs seeming to work in concert. In, and out… Then he kissed her.

It was nothing like the earlier anaemic press of chapped lips; Severus kissed her with all the desperation and longing of the last six months. Bittersweet and potent, the sensation of her body was almost painfully electric. Riveted in place, he was buffeted by twin currents of lust and anguish; he knew this one interlude would be all he would experience with Hermione. And so as he tasted her, when he nipped at her lips and she opened her mouth with a low murmur, it was all he could do to keep his hands in place and not let the kiss turn savage and demanding.

Slowly, her arms came up and tugged him closer until he could feel the heavy, wet weight of her gown against his cloak. Her body seemed to melt into his, and Severus let his eyes drift shut, falling fully into the embrace.

"Yes…" she whispered, opening to him. Her hips shifted, pressing against his and he bit back a whimper.

And Christ, but she could kiss. Meeting his tongue stroke for stroke, she was as passionately responsive as he could have dreamt. Belatedly, he became aware that her hands had started to roam over his chest. Taking it as tacit approval, Severus let one a palm drift upward. He could feel the unyielding lines of a corset and then finally lush softness of one breast. Allowing his fingers explore, he found the aroused peaks of her nipples and began to fondle them. Gratifyingly she gasped, breath coming in short bursts as he continued his ministrations.

"Hermione," he rasped. "Oh, Hermione, sweetheart…"

At his words, she jerked hard, yanking herself completely away from him. Eyes flying open, he saw that she was staring at him, a flush rapidly receding from her cheeks. Struggling for words, he could only gape in response.

"No." That wild, trapped look was back in her amber gaze, and the sight of it seemed to cool the room by a good ten degrees. "No," she repeated, stepping back.

Apparently, his brain had been utterly short-circuited by lust; all he could do was stand there, chest heaving, prick rock-hard, and blink like a bloody fool.

"No more," she said, arms wrapping protectively around herself. "It's done. We got what we needed." Dumbly, Severus took in the changes around them.

No longer did they reside in a simple stone and dirt hovel; the room had transformed into a properly snug cabin, complete with a roaring fire and cosy looking bed piled high with blankets. There were even two matching flannel nightshirts draped over the bed frame.

With hurried, graceless movements, Hermione stalked over the bed and snatched up the smaller of the two garments, revealing a plush towel and woollen socks underneath. Turning her back to him and moving closer to the fire, she began to rip at the myriad buttons and laces of her gown.

Sick with desire and shame, Severus stood unmoving in the middle of the room for several minutes, unable to process events. Hermione had reacted with just as much ardour as he had, only coming back to reality when had spoken her name; had she imagined someone else during that heated kiss?

The thought of it was like a punch to the gut, and it wasn't until he started to shiver that he moved instinctively over the bed for his own dry clothes. Standing in his own dark corner, he focused on the floor, incapable of looking at her. _Will I ever be good enough?_

It was a struggle to remove the waterlogged frock coat, and Severus settled for ripping several buttons from the fastenings with a mute snarl. The sound of a half-choked sob drew his attention back to the fireplace; with a guilty start, he saw that Hermione was crying, fingers shaking badly as she futilely attempted to remove her gown.

He swallowed. "Let me help…"

She whirled, expression a mess of humiliation and anger. "Don't. Don't you dare lie to me and pretend that you care! Not after everything you've done!"

"I do care!" he retorted.

"Right," she drawled, sarcasm dripping from the word. "You care so much that you are impelled to ridicule and berate me in public, and are civil only when your own comfort is on the line."

"I cared enough to ask you out on a date," he spat, temper eclipsing his usual filters. "You're the cold-hearted one, accepting my invitation, hiding for days, and then trying to wrangle favours from me as if I were a fool. Don't pretend that you have any feelings for me besides disgust!"

Her reply came out a bare octave lower than a screech. "Oh, now I'm the cold-hearted bitch, am I? I waited up half the night on that stupid 'date,' and when I finally went to fetch for you- with my blouse unbuttoned halfway down to my navel, I might add- you were drawing Harry's Mum and looking bloody well pleased about it! So don't tell me that I didn't care. I was in love with you, you daft bastard!"

Her last words seemed to suck the very air from the room, and Severus was quite sure that even time froze at her exclamation.

_She loved me?_

A hollow sort of ringing filled his ears, and he grabbed at the bed frame lest he topple over.

_She loved me?_

There had been one other person to confess that sort of partiality for him- his mother, and she had only said the words the once that he could recall.

_Hermione loved me…_

_She said 'loved,' as in 'was in love,' not 'is in love'…_

Shock and horror rooted him to the floor as Hermione turned from him, covering her face with her hands as tears ran down her face.

_Oh, God, I've done it again. I've ruined absolutely everything._

"Please," he finally choked out. "Please let me help you…"

Between emotion and cold, Hermione had started to shake again in earnest, skin gone white with blue undertones. She sagged bonelessly against the mantel when he tentatively touched her shoulder.

"Please," he begged again. Still, she said nothing, and Snape was nauseous with the thought of all he'd destroyed.

They stood in near silence long enough for the fire to die down; jaw firming and fist clenching, Hermione finally spoke. "Get this dress off me."

Stepping forward mechanically, he did as he was bid. It took a solid five minutes to unfasten the multitude of tiny buttons down the back, and Snape pushed all thoughts from his mind but the task at hand.

When the gown finally hit the floor with a wet, ragged exhalation, Hermione gave a shudder, flesh long pushed past goosepimples. Underneath the dress, she wore a tight underbust corset and white cotton chemise and pantaloons; as wet as the cotton was, it might as well be transparent.

Closing his eyes, he took a measured breath in, trying not recall the generous curve of bum and hips that had been revealed. The fire leant Hermione's skin the golden illusion of life and warmth, and the thought of what might have been, was this real…

_Don't. Just get her out of the ruddy corset._

In the end, Severus had to slice the laces, the job made doubly awkward due to the shears.

"I can manage the rest." He nodded numbly and handed her the towel. She did not look at him.

They had been standing next to the fire long enough that tendrils of steam had started to emerge from the dark wool of his trousers; the effect made him feel like some sort of beast from hell. It was that cheerful thought that gave him the impetus needed to retreat to the dark corner, and he began half-heartily picking at the laces of his own shirt. Tossing it to the floor with a wet plop, Severus started to dry his chest and head.

At some point he must have stopped moving, because the sound of Hermione's voice- flat and unwelcoming- startled him badly.

"Severus, get changed and come to bed before things revert any further."

With a jerk, he glanced around, noting how shabby everything had become, and more importantly, how weak the glowing remains of the fire were.

"Right," he muttered. Pulling the nightshirt over his head, he let it conceal his body before yanking off his trousers and swiftly drying his legs. Not wishing to track dirt into the bed, he left the sodden boots on and walked over the bed. Sitting warily on the edge, Severus winced at the low creak his actions produced.

It took quite a bit of tugging to get the leather off, and his feet were horribly prune-y when they were eventually revealed. Drying off as best as he could, he put on the woollen socks and finally turned to Hermione.

She was curled into a small ball, blankets tucked all the way up to her chin. Her eyes reflected only the dying embers of the fire.

"Budge over," he told her quietly. "I'll sleep next to the wall so you can be closer to the fire."

Hermione didn't argue, and he slid under the covers with a minimum of fuss. Staring up at the wooden beams of the ceiling, he was vividly aware of the woman next to him; of the way the feather bed dipped with her weight, the soft sound of her breathing, and most importantly, the unbridgeable gap that lay between them.

Severus wondered if he was doomed to be forever defined by his own idiotic hubris. He'd tried so damn hard to move beyond the bitter and broken man of his youth, but the self-imposed chains remained nevertheless. _How?_ he wondered. _How can I a change a lifetime's worth of bad habits?_

Eventually, Hermione fell asleep next to him, and he shifted slightly so that he could catch sight of her profile. In the dim light, he could only see broad outlines of her features. Fighting back exhaustion, he watched her, desperately trying to imprint her sleeping form onto his memory.

 _I'll beg and I'll plead_ , he thought as he was finally pulled into unconscious, _Hell, I'll do anything if it means that she might forgive me…_

* * *

Hermione awoke in stages, languidly, deliciously warm for what felt the first time in days. Desire pulsed low and heavy in her belly, and it only took a bit of creative squirming to deduce why.

Severus was curled around her, one long-fingered hand cupping a breast and hips firmly pressed against hers. The thick length of his erection was nestled between her thighs, and it was that realisation that finally propelled her in full wakefulness.

Given the manner in which she had one leg thrown over his, it was safe to assume that she had been an active participant in achieving the wanton position; a simple shift of her hips would allow her to rub against his hard…

_Oh, God. What I am thinking? I'm still mad at him!_

_Aren't I?_

She wasn't so sure. Severus' clear and obvious distress of the night before had done much to blunt her ire, and Hermione couldn't help but recall the endless minutes that he'd stood shirtless and staring at the wall; she could have gutted him and gotten less of visceral reaction.

He had, apparently, fancied her; she had not been mental to dare imagine that Severus had asked her out on a date. Moreover, his heated accusation- 'You're the cold-hearted one, accepting my invitation, hiding for days, and then trying to wrangle favours from me as if I were a fool'- explained much of his later hateful behaviour.

As explanations went, it was a good one: she had been a coward to hide from him. A short conversation would have saved them from much pain. Still, it didn't excuse his actions, serving only to illustrate that she had managed to wound him deeply without even trying.

_But how much of that was simple male ego, versus genuine feelings for you? Ron was a spiteful bastard in the end as well, and that had very little to do with unrequited sentiment and more to do with how he appeared to others…_

She glanced up at him. In sleep, he looked oddly vulnerable, the marks of hardship and abuse ever more apparent. Hermione was struck by the urge to brush the fine strands of black hair away from his pale face; laying this close to him, it was clear that his robes had hidden the fact that he had lost a fair amount of weight in the last month or so.

The day before had been a torment for any number of reasons, even excluding the weather and impromptu winter hike. It had been the fantasy that he had woven around them that burned the worst, however; the way he spun out their emotions and the promise of a feature together… and then being forced to have him slowly undress her in front of the fire, just in her long-ago fantasy.

_So Granger… the question in front of you is a straightforward one. You have some of the explanations- is he worth enough to try and stick around to hash matters out?_

Hermione didn't have time to figure out her answer. Like a light flipping on, Severus was suddenly awake, his entire body tensing for a long moment as he took in their intimate positions.

Black pupils dilating rapidly among the luxurious fringe of his eyelashes, his face lost what little colour it had regained. For the first time, he wore no mask over his feelings; she could easily read the lust and sorrow animating his expression, the guilty despair, and most of all, the firm belief that he deserved to punished for his actions.

"I wanted to draw you." His voice was a low, uncertain rumble. "Merlin, but you were so beautiful that night- between your pink painted toes to the book you chose, it was like discovering the epitome of a fantasy that I never knew that I had. But it seemed such a violation to draw you without your express permission." Severus swallowed, looking down. "So I drew Lily instead."

"Why?" she asked, still not understanding.

"Because for the first time in almost three decades, I couldn't easily picture her face. All I could think about was you, and I wanted to say goodbye before I moved on."

The truth in his unvarnished words was evident to behold, and it silenced her effectively as any spell. Hermione had no idea what to say and could feel his misery as easily as hers. His erection had all but disappeared, and Hermione found herself sick with what might have been.

"You cared?" she finally stuttered.

"I did." Severus' fingers were suddenly on her chin, gently forcing her to look up. "I do."

_Is he worth it?_

Cautiously, her hand crept up to brush the hair from his lean cheeks, and he stilled under her touch. The sheer, unadulterated longing in his expression was what finally pushed her into a decision; pulling his head downward, she lightly ran her lips over his.

"Hermione," he breathed, unsure.

"I want you." Another brush of her lips, this time firmer. "I wanted you for months. Please, Severus, just kiss me…"

He took her mouth fiercely, the both of them trembling with the heat of the moment. She could feel her body blossoming into life, the ache between her legs intensifying rapidly. Rolling her hips against his, she was gratified to hear his ragged moan, and he impatiently tugged at her nightgown.

"Off, off!" he chanted, reaching for the hem and helping her pull it away.

The air was crisp when it hit her overheated skin, but it was the sight of his blazing eyes that caused her breath to hitch. For several seconds, he loomed above her like a dark god of old, intent on conquest.

"Do you like what you see?" she asked, trying to regain a bit of control.

He smirked ever so slightly. "No."

Lowering his head again, he nipped the long column of her throat, laving the resulting red mark in gentle apology.

"I don't like how soft your skin is."

Running his hands over her hips, he paused, considering. "I don't like your hips, or the way they sway when you walk. I certainly do not like the smell of your arousal, or the way your nipples harden into perfect coral buds when I do this."

His mouth traced the curve of one breast before latching onto a nipple. "I don't like the way you taste…"

"Severus," she moaned helplessly, seeing the glint of humour in his gaze.

Yanking his flannel nightshirt off, he rubbed his chest against hers, the friction from the light dusting of hair a wonderfully masculine contrast to her own smoothness.

"I love how your skin feels against mine… and your hips? Christ, but the number of times you've made rock hard by just walking away after a fight. Do you know how many times that I fantasised about hunting you down and taking you hard and fast in some dark hallway?"

Hermione was panting now and reached for him with greedy hands. "About as frequently as I did, I rather imagine."

An emotion a shade more defenceless entered his expression. "The only thing that could beat the smell of your arousal is the taste of it, I think."

His palm glided down her belly and she bucked, needing to feel him. Eyes hooded, he swirled his fingers over her clit, earning a low whimper.

"Spread your legs for me, sweetheart." Hastily she obeyed, feeling like she was about to burst into flames. Slowly, his fingers penetrated her, and she let out a much louder moan that seemed to egg him on.

Pushing her legs further apart, he nuzzled one thigh while sniffing the air deeply. "I love the way you smell… and that you get this wet for me." Severus punctuated each word with a thrust of his fingers, and it was all Hermione could do to not wrench his head down to her needy, swollen flesh.

"Tease!"

He shook his head. "Not teasing. Worshipping." Withdrawing his hand from her tight channel, Severus slowly licked the glistening wetness on his fingers, eyes drifting shut for a long moment.

"Mmm… I also love the way you taste. Clearly, further and an in-depth comparison is needed."

"Please," Hermione begged unable to say anything more coherent. "Please, Severus…"

The smirk was back in full effect. "I am a tease, aren't I? Shall I try to make it up to you?"

Without waiting for her response, he took her sex into his mouth. Tongue tracing her folds, he revelled in her slickness, making a noise that was dangerously close to a purr. Fingers quickly re-joining his mouth, he worked her into a wild frenzy, lapping up the waves of moisture. Hermione's thighs started to tremble uncontrollably, and she became aware that she was screaming Severus' name.

"Come for me, my love," he growled, sucking hard on her clit as she let out a final, strangled cry, the world exploding into joyful nothingness around her.

She remained oblivious to everything but the roar of her heart beating and the thudding pulse between her legs for quite some time. When she was eventually able to lift her head, it was to find him solemn-eyed and resting his head on her still-quivering stomach.

Propping himself up on one arm, he idly caressed her nipples. "I love everything about your nipples. Hell, I love everything about your tits, full stop. They are sheer, utter perfection…"

Hermione could feel his cock pressing hard into her hip, and reached between them. "You are a relentless man, Severus Snape."

"No," he gasped as her thumb slid over the head of his penis. "I just want to worship you, if you'll have me…"

She laughed, a husky, shaky sound. "Oh, I'm going to have you, never fear." Her fingers played down the length of him, squeezing him until he groaned and rolled fully onto his back.

Opening his legs to give her better access, he willingly gave himself over to her care. The gesture was not lost on Hermione, and she vowed that she would do whatever it took to work matters out between them.

"Shall I start listing things that I love about you?" she asked, seeing the way his face softened at the deliberated reuse of his words.

"Yes." His voice was painfully quiet, and her heart gave a little lurch. _Oh, my Severus…_

"Since it's impossible to kiss your brain or your sense of humour, I shall settle on telling you that I love your voice." Letting her hair drift over his chest, she kissed his throat, feeling his Adam's Apple bob as she did so.

"Your voice turns me on fast enough that you could probably read the phone directory and I could come like a freight train. I won't tell about the number of times I had run back to my rooms and frig myself silly after we debated the merits of interspecies transfiguration or more advanced methods of brewing."

Taking his hand within her own, Hermione brought it up to her mouth. Lightly, she kissed his knuckles. "Likewise, I love your hands. Truthfully, we'd need about two weeks for me to tell you all the wicked things I've dreamt of…" Letting her words trail off, she sucked one finger into her mouth, twisting her tongue around it. Reaching her other hand down, she grasped his cock in her fist, tugging at with the same rhythm of her mouth.

Severus whimpered, and it was the most glorious sound she'd heard.

Releasing his finger with a wet pop, she smiled. "Regretfully, my sense of smell is nowhere as keen as yours. Still, your scent haunts the room long after you've left, and you can add it to the long list of things that turn me on."

Slowing the movement of her hand, Hermione let the moment spin out. "I suppose that leaves taste, doesn't it?"

Arching her back, she bent down and took him in her mouth, tasting the salty, metallic flavour of his essence. His hands knotted themselves in her hair, and she chuckled. Losing herself in the pleasure of having him hot and hard in her mouth, Hermione sucked him until his hips bucked and the flavour grew intense.

With a shudder, he pulled at her head and she stopped, peering up. Face flush and eyes gleaming with savage lust, he roughly jerked her upward. Rolling on top of her, Hermione felt the head of his cock nudge at her entrance.

Clearly trying to bring himself under control, he halted, breathing heavily. Gripping his tense forearm, she encouraged him with a tilt of her hips. "If we are following the pattern, I do believe that further in-depth comparison is now required."

Kissing her deeply, he moaned at the taste of his own musk in her mouth. "I love you," he groaned and plunged home.

The overwhelming sensation of him, thick and rigid within her was almost enough to make Hermione come again. Wrapping her legs around him, she tightened her internal muscles, trying to get him to move. "Harder, Severus…"

He moved within her, thrusting and sliding until his brow was wet with sweat and Hermione's back had gone slick as her quim. "Come with me, love," she pleaded, and he finally let he lust get the better of him.

Severus moved inside of her until there was nothing but that point of glorious collision. Clinching wetly around him, and pulse pounding in time with his thrusts, Hermione came hard enough that her whole body shook. And still he pounded relentlessly into her, until she screamed and quaked around him a second time.

With a low roar, he finally spilt himself, body going incredibly tense at the moment of climax. In that instant, Severus felt a connection that was far beyond the tangle of their limbs or the carnal act of sex.

For the first time in his life, Severus had faith that he had finally found that missing part of him, that he would no longer be alone and unknown. Collapsing to one side, he only had a moment to be humbled by the gift he'd been given before the world turned white around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A belated thank you to everyone who has been leaving comments and kudos- it really makes my day! Lemons always make me a bit nervous, so if you can, let me know what you think. 
> 
> High five if you can pick out the Monty Python reference.


	4. Out of the Closet

And then, quite suddenly, they were back on the floor of the closet as if nothing had occurred.

Hermione came awake with Severus laying half on top of her, one strong arm wrapped firmly around her waist. Her face was once again wet, not with snow this time, but the faintest hint of drool. Hastily she wiped her cheeks, freezing when she registered the intent gaze of the Headmaster on her.

"You've missed a spot." Gently, he brushed the tip of her nose, fingers coming back with streaks of black. "The remains of Peruvian Instant Darkness Power, I think."

He had a similar spot on his forehead, and without stopping to think about it, she reached up and brushed it off. Stilling at her touch, he stared down at her with fathomless eyes.

"Hermione," he started, voice a silken rumble. "Please tell that you remember what just happened- that it wasn't just all in my head..."

"Don't ever ask me to go hunting for potions ingredients with you again," she replied with a shaky smile, reaching for a touch of levity to defuse the situation.

Stark relief flashed across his expression. "To be fair, I didn't ask you this time, either." Jaw tightening, he glanced at the mess surrounding them. "And when I find out who was behind this little escapade, I shall make them pay accordingly."

"Was it truly that bad?" she asked, the question coming out far less steadily than she had intended. _Oh, God, if this changes nothing between us, I really will have to quit!_

"No." Pushing himself into a sitting position, Severus helped her off the ground. "I didn't mean it like that. I just don't appreciate significant numbers of my staff plotting against me, however well meaning."

"Good," Hermione said, finding herself suddenly tongue-tied, the memory of all that had happened flooding back. "Good that you didn't find the experience all that bad, not that you don't appreciate staff plotting…"

He silenced her with a finger to her lips. "I should have said this straight off… Forgive me for all that I did and said over the last several months. There is no excuse for my poor conduct. I just…" Severus shook his head, running a weary hand through his hair. "I had such high hopes, and then when I thought all was lost, my only instinct was to try and destroy everything."

Swallowing hard at the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat, Hermione asked, "Severus… do you want to be in a relationship with me?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation. "More than anything. I just… I don't know how you can excuse my conduct."

"I acted poorly as well," Hermione told him softly. "But if we could start over—if we could forgive each other, and move forward as a couple—would you want to do that?"

"Yes. Hermione… I want you." He flushed suddenly. "I mean, it's not only your body I want, although I clearly find you incredibly attractive…" Severus stopped, burying his head in his hands. "Gods, I can't even do this right!"

Pulling his hands back from his long face, Hermione gently kissed him, trying to give him some courage to articulate what he needed. "I want your body too, Severus. But I also want more than that."

Cupping her cheek, he leaned in and kissed her in return. It was a hungry, oddly bleak kiss. Pulling back to stare at her, he sighed. "I am so tired of being alone, Hermione. I want everything. Mind, body, soul… if you can forgive me. If we can start again… I promise you, I will do everything in my power to make you happy."

She could see quite clearly that he did not think that she would grant him absolution, more or less a second chance at a relationship. For all that he was one of the most powerful Wizards in Great Britain, and the Headmaster of it's most famous school, Severus Snape was still a fragile man. Vowing to take much more care in her interactions with him—hell, of him!—Hermione answered.

"My forgiveness depends on one thing, and only one thing."

"And that is?"

Linking a hand with his, she squeezed. "That you likewise forgive me. I should have acted the adult and said something rather than make assumptions about what you were thinking; I should have trusted that you would hear me out. Moreover, once things went south, I should not have so convincingly played the part of an insufferable harridan."

"My forgiveness is yours." The tension eased from his lean body, and Severus brought a second hand to cup hers. "But I have to know. Why didn't you say something that night? If you waited for me in my rooms as you said..?"

Hermione blushed. "Enid MacMillan."

"What on earth does Enid MacMillan have to do with any of this?"

"Prior to the first staff meeting in August, I overheard Minerva teasing you about the way you had declined the offers of Enid MacMillan and several other witches. When I saw you drawing Harry's Mum, all I could think was that it had all been wishful thinking on my part and that if you found out, you'd react the same way."

As she spoke, one black brow arched up. "Ahhh. That makes some sense."

"As I said," Hermione repeated, shame flooding her, "… I should have trusted you to handle it in a professional fashion, rather than simply take the easy way out by avoiding you."

That earned her an eye roll. "Given my more recent behaviour, I'm not sure that your assumption was all that incorrect. Had you come to me… well, that's not something either of us can change. I hope that I would have been decent enough to handle the situation correctly, regardless of my feelings. However, I do not imagine that you would have propositioned me in a manner as publically vulgar as Enid MacMillan did, either."

Hermione smirked. "I did linger about in your rooms with my blouse unbuttoned most shamelessly."

"And you are welcome to do so anytime you please." His words were richly evocative, and Hermione felt her pulse speed up.

"Are you asking me out, Severus?"

His hand tightened on hers. "Have dinner with me, Hermione. Come sit on my settee with your blouse unbuttoned, and we'll read Jurassic Park together, or whatever it is that people do on dates."

She laughed, feeling happier than she had in ages. "Will you draw me like a French girl?"

Severus' mouth quirked. "I have no notion of what that means, nor have I ever drawn a French girl, but yes, I'll draw you if you want."

"Clearly, you need some tutoring in the field of advanced Muggle studies. We should start with your settee and the film Titanic."

Unbending his long legs, he rose completely and proffered a hand up. "Would that be the one involving icebergs and a sinking ship? Because I am not that ignorant of history..."

Letting herself be pulled into his embrace, Hermione smiled at him coquettishly. "Yes, that's the correct disaster. But the film also features Kate Winslet's breasts. You'll like them."

Severus' gaze dropped to her own modestly covered bosom. "I'm sure I will. But I have no doubt that yours are better." Returning his heated regard to her face, he brushed a lingering kiss across her lips. "Now come, Professor Granger. We need to set this room to rights before any other calamities befall us."

"Shall we plot a spot of revenge while we work?"

This time it was he who laughed. "I do like the way you think…" Picking up a box and showing it to her, he sent her a wolfish grin. "I've always wanted to be a pirate."

Taking the Weasley Wizarding Wheezes Patented Daydream Charm- 'Piratical Fantasies Edition!'- from his grasp, Hermione tucked it in her robes with a wink. "We'll just store this one elsewhere, don't you think?"

"The closet is rather overcrowded…" Bending down, Severus halted suddenly, frame stiffening. Peering down at the mess on the floor, Hermione saw that he was staring at her letter of resignation.

_We did manage to create quite the mess, didn't we?_

"Severus," she called softly when he still hadn't straightened. "We're both forgiven, remember? That part is over."

He smiled at her, but shadows lingered in his eyes.

"Come here," she commanded and wrapped her arms around him as he stepped closer. "We'll take things slow. They'll be lots of dinners and evenings on your settee. We'll learn how to be with each other without it being all fire or ice. We'll both work to make each other happy."

"Has anyone," he asked her, voice muffled by her hair, "…told you how brilliant you are?"

"Not recently. You're a rare, clever man to recognise it."

His chuckle vibrated delightfully through his chest. "Do you know what else clever men can do..?"

* * *

_The Next Morning…_

Minerva and her minions waited breathlessly at the High Table, wondering if their plans had born any fruit.

Hermione was already seated left of the middle, appearing absolutely knackered, and not in the shagged-out, I've-been-thoroughly-debauched-in-a-closet fashion. _How did it not work?_ Minerva wondered as she observed her cub tiredly eat toast with all the enthusiasm of a sloth. _We set it up so carefully! And George said the only way they'd be able to exit the daydream is if they finally…_

With a dramatic billow of black robes, the Headmaster strode in, sharp eyes travelling the length of the table and then inspecting the student body as a whole. Everyone held their collective breaths, waiting to see what sort of mood the man of the hour might be in.

With a faintly sour grimace, he reached for the coffee. Minerva noted that he also entirely lacked the post-coital glow they had hoped for.

 _Well_ , she thought resignedly, _he can't be too mad if he's going for the coffee- his stomach would prevent it if he was truly that worked up…_

With a screech of wood against the tile, Hermione pushed her chair back and rose. Everyone—staff included—halted. From across the room, Minerva saw a piece of smoked kipper fall from the mouth of a Hufflepuff.

_Oh, no. Please, please don't let there be a scene again! Not here!_

Severus was all cool-eyed dispassion as he stared at his Muggle Studies Professor. "Professor Granger."

Had a pin taken that moment to fall to the ground, it would have been audible.

Hermione gave him a shallow nod in return. "Headmaster." Without another word, she turned and dismounted the steps of the dais, walking the length of student tables in utter silence.

 _Are her hips swaying_? Minerva wondered, missing the fact that Severus had not torn his gaze from her backside. _No, I must be imagining it…_

_Well, bugger. It looks like it's back to the drawing board..._

* * *

_Two Weeks Later_

George Weasley was in the middle of a very important budgetary presentation when it happened; with a loud, gassy squeal, he turned into a human-sized, bright-yellow canary.

 _Oh, fuck_ , he thought as his sales predictions fluttered to the floor; he no longer had opposable thumbs, after all. _It's my anniversary tonight. Angelina's gonna kill me…_

He remained a canary for three whole days.

* * *

_The Following Afternoon_

Pomona Sprout loved taking a good kip; truly, her day was not completed without one. Her favourite place to nap was on the specially transformed loveseat in Greenhouse Three- it received the perfect amount of late afternoon sun, and the scent of growing things always set her mind at ease. Just a little tot out of her flask, and a bit a stretch on the loveseat, and Pomona was visiting Bedfordshire quicker than one could say 'venomous tentacula.'

The Herbologist had just fallen asleep when the lightest of caresses brushed across her arm. She shifted restlessly, batting at the irritation.

It persisted.

With an irritated snort, she jerked awake… only to find nearly a hundred plants encircling her, fronds, leaves and stems all dancing in a non-existent, creepy breeze.

The touch on her arm came again. Nearly falling off the sofa, she stared at the plant trying to get her attention.

Her Japanese Peace Lily had a face. And arms. And a mouth.

_Plants don't have faces…_

"Hello, Mummy," it said to her dreamily, and she screamed.

* * *

_Later That Evening_

Neville Longbottom was hard at work clearing the mess of Greenhouse Three; Pomona had smashed quite a few pots after having the oddest nightmare about talking plants or some such nonsense.

 _Really_ , he wondered. _She needs to lay off the Firewhiskey before things get out of hand. Moreover, I don't know why the notion of talking Peace Lily would bother her so much. It's not as if it could do more than tickle you. It's not like she was dreaming of fanged geraniums, after all…_

Something wrapped around his foot tightly.

Glancing down, Neville saw that it was Devil's Snare.

_Why is that plant in this greenhouse? It should be in five…_

With a yank, the insidious vines pulled him into a dark corner, the leaves making a sound that soundly suspiciously like a cackle. In a matter of minutes, he was trussed up just like a holiday turkey.

Pomona had to free him in the morning.

* * *

_Three Days Later_

For an entire week, every single spell that Filius Flitwick cast resulted in either his wand or the object turning into a rubber chicken.

A squeaking, clucking, rubber chicken.

The students were highly amused.

He was not.

* * *

_One Day After That_

Poppy knew it was coming.

Strange fates had befallen her co-conspirators, and she knew it was only a matter of time before she met hers.

Still, she was shocked when the fourth-floor stair that she stepped on folded inward; then, with a muted 'whoosh', the entire stairway turned into a narrow, sharply dropping slide.

With a high-pitched yell, she slid down the ramp like a greased pig through a chute, robes and hair flying in every direction.

It could have been fun, Poppy supposed later when she had regained her dignity and her stomach. She had loved slides as girl… but the five-story roller coaster ride down to the dungeons of Hogwarts was something else entirely.

* * *

_Two Months Later_

It was smugness, Minerva reckoned, not curiosity, that killed cats.

Three months had not made her safe.

The Deputy Headmistress had been patrolling the hallways in her feline form when she had come across some rather pungent cat balm; one sniff had rendered her into a limp, sleepy lump unable to more than drool and blink.

Alas, it was there that five-year-old hell-child of the Defence Against the Dark Arts instructor had found her. The pink-clad girl had plucked her up and cheerfully announced that "Tabby Kitty is just in time for a tea party!"

 _No_ , thought Minerva. _I am not going to a tea party_ …

She was very wrong.

Twenty minutes later, Minerva McGonagall was sitting limply at a child's table, dressed in a pink pinafore and bonnet, being served cups of imaginary tea.

"Tabby Kitty is so pretty! Does Tabby Kitty want to play makeup now?"

Minerva hissed.

She still ended up wearing lipstick.

* * *

_Later That Evening_

Severus was laughing as he entered the bedroom. Looking up from her book, Hermione smiled affectionately.

"Well?"

His smirk deepened. "I was forced to rescue Minerva from the clutches of a small child bent on making 'Tabby Kitty' the next high fashion model, complete with very questionable undergarments and the most hideously overdone makeup I've seen outside of the whores of Knockturn Alley."

"Oh, my. I don't suppose you got a picture?"

"Of course I did." Walking over to the wardrobe, he began to slowly unbutton his robes, relishing the sensation of being watched appreciatively as he stripped down to his pants.

It was a strange feeling, this coupled contentedness; Severus wasn't sure if he'd ever get used to it after a lifetime alone. The last three and half months had been sheer bliss with Hermione—well, there had been a few disagreements along the way, but they had found that make-up sex had its advantages—and he was currently working out the exact details of his proposal. He had the ring, and it was simply a matter of choosing the appropriate location. _All and all_ , he thought, almost cheerfully, _I think it's clear that I'm the jammy sod for once…_

"You're awfully quiet tonight," he finally said, padding over the bed.

Hermione placed her book on the bedside table and obligingly pulled the cover back so he could join her. With a smirk of her own, she revealed that she had placed a familiar oblong box under the sheets.

"I thought that perhaps we could give this a go." Her lovely, delectable hand caressed the cover of the 'Piratical Fantasies Edition' Weasley Wizarding Wheezes Patented Daydream Charm. "Given that we have at least several hours of safety before the staff starts to plot against us again."

Severus stretched out on the bed next to her. "Has real life proven to be that much of disappointment, sweetheart?" he teased.

Her hand moved from the box to his bare chest, tweaking the flat caramel nipples before sliding down to fondle the growing bulge in his pants. "Not in the least. I just enjoy… playing with you."

"You do?"

"Mmmm, yes." Fingers dipping under his waistband, Hermione stroked his cock into full hardness. "Don't you like playing with me?"

Twisting suddenly, he rose above her, pinning Hermione to the mattress. "No. I love playing with you."

Her amber eyes softened in the way that always made him feel like the luckiest man in the world, and she pulled his head down for a deep kiss. "Oh, Severus, I love you, too," she moaned as he began to nibble his way down to her breasts.

Grinning wickedly, he secured both of her hands within his and then restrained them to the headboard with a silent sticking charm. "So, you want to play a game of pirates and maidens, hmmm? Do you want to be a spoil of war, Hermione? Captured on the high seas and given to the biggest, baddest pirate captain? Shall I plunder your body for its most valuable treasure?"

Laughing huskily, she flexed her hips into his. "Who says you get to be the pirate? Maybe I'll be the one to steal you away into the night, bind you to my bunk and teach you all about the carnal pleasures of sex."

"There's only one way to find out." Banishing their clothes to the hamper, he hissed as the silken expanse of her naked skin rubbed against his. "But first, we have some pressing business to attend to..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you go... a flangsty, PWP with a HEA. And a bit of plot. And revenge. 
> 
> I've got about half chapter of pirate-themed porn written, and if I can ever finish it, I'll add it to the story. Until then, you'll have to choose your favourite scenario and use your imagination. Sorry :) 
> 
> I can't say thank you enough to all the wonderful people who have taken the time to comment on this story, as well as my other stuff; truly, it's what keeps me writing and pushes me to do better.
> 
> And finally, if you are looking for some brand spanking new SSHG wonderfulness, check out the SSHG Gift Fest currently being run on LiveJournal; every day features either a new story or piece of art. 
> 
> https://sshg-giftfest.livejournal.com/


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